Coming Home
by Cambrian Beckett
Summary: This story is a crossover with the Elder Scrolls game, Skyrim. Aegon Targaryen is transported to the mostly frozen northern part of Tamriel as a baby. Needless to say, he's chosen as the Dragonborn. Now, he's come back home. This fic explores a possible reason for why Aegon does not show up in the TV Show at all.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just a bit of fun. Enjoy or don't =)**

It came after he'd finished pardoning Ned Umber and Alys Karstark. Despite vocal dissent from his Lords, Jon Snow, newly appointed King in the North, had decreed that the crimes of fathers could not stain the honor of their children. It had taken some doing, but as Alys Karstark and Ned Umber finished reaffirming the vows of their two Houses, there had been cheering and applause.

Jon had a soft smile on his face as those who had abruptly become his bannermen welcomed the young woman and even younger boy back into the fold with levity and joy rather than scorn and disrespect. The King in the North knew that they would need everyone in the fight that was to come. The Night King and the Dead were the true enemy. Conflict amongst the living, petty blood feuds and old enmity could not be allowed to stand any longer. The upcoming battle was one for survival, the survival of life itself.

And of course, in a moment of joy and happiness, that would be when everything went to shit. Jon should have been expecting something like this, but truth be told, that was merely his pessimistic side talking. How could anyone be prepared for a localized explosion of what appeared to be multi-colored magic right in the center of Winterfell's Hall? Ned Umber and Alys Karstark whirled around as the event took place only a few feet behind them.

Jon stood and gripped Longclaw harshly in its sheathe, not quite sliding it free yet even as his bannermen pulled their own blades. Everyone stared as the lightshow faded and a kneeling figure was revealed. Then, the being stood and the tension skyrocketed up another few notches. Longclaw came a few inches out of it's sheathe as Jon stared in muted horror at what seemed like a monster. His bannermen reacted no better, dozens of swords levied at the creature. However, such was the imposing nature of this new arrival, that nobody actively swung the first blow.

This was good, as it gave Jon time to realize that whoever or whatever this was, it was not necessarily a monster as first glance might make one suspect. It walked upright like a man at least, but then so did White Walkers. It didn't dress like any White Walker Jon had laid eyes on though. Instead, it was more draconic than anything else. With sharp and jagged edges as well as a menacing horned helm, Jon saw, once he got past the frightening immediate visual, a man dressed in armor and nothing more.

His bannermen were growing more and more restless though, mutterings and murmurings and swords dipping and swaying as each Northerner considered making the first strike. Jon had to say something, had to take control of the situation. Having calmed down somewhat, the King in the North modulated his voice as he called out, acting far more confident and assured then he truly was.

"Stranger! You have invaded the hall of Winterfell! State your intentions and show your face, or you will be deemed hostile."

His voice carried, strong and deep. It caught the attention of the armored intruder as Alys and Ned both stepped aside to give Jon and the creature direct line of sight. But more importantly than drawing the being's eyes to him, it also drew the focus of his Lords. The Northerners lining the hall all relaxed a tad when Jon stepped up to take control of the situation. Though none set down their weapons, not that Jon would have wanted them to.

A voice boomed from the horned draconic helm, but it spoke in a language that Jon did not know. While certainly intimidating and imposing, it actually didn't sound that threatening, causing most of the people surrounding the creature to look to each other in confusion, rather than fear or concern. Jon's own confusion must have shown on his face as he furrowed his brow.

There was a moment as the armored intruder seemed to pause. Then, he lifted up his arms, showing off black spiked gauntlets just as menacing and intimidating as the rest of his armor. That said, they were empty of weapons and his hands were open, palm out. It was a gesture of peace and none of the men surrounding the invader moved an inch as he then reached up and grabbed at the edge of his draconic helm, slowly pulling it off.

Jon wasn't exactly sure when he'd started treating the armored figure as a he rather than an it. Truth be told, the moment the being had spoken, even speaking in a language incomprehensible to Jon's ears, he'd assumed it was a man. He was not wrong. In fact, the face and hair that were revealed as the intruder removed his menacing helm were quite familiar to Jon and a number of people in the hall.

It's Robett Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte that says what they're all already thinking, his voice quiet and his eyes wide as he breathes out a single word.

"Targaryen…"

And it truly is the first thing that came to the minds of all those in the hall. From Jon to Sansa to the lowliest knight and the greatest northern lord. Even conniving, scheming Petyr Baelish, watching the proceedings from the wall of the hall, is wide eyed at the sight before him. It is the description of every Targaryen Prince that they have ever heard standing before him.

A handsome pale face with a wide smile set upon it greeted the onlookers from around the hall. A pair of distinctive purple eyes met Jon's own chocolate brown as the newly crowned King in the North stares unashamedly in shock and curiosity. A mane of silver-blonde hair reaches right down to the very top of the man's breastplate and goes no further.

The face alone reveals a gorgeous youthful man, face devoid of hair, but confidence and experience brimming in his unusually colored eyes nonetheless. There is a glance to Lord Glover as the older man speaks, but then the Targaryen's eyes go back to Jon, seeming to zero in on the most important man in the room, no matter how much Jon wishes that wasn't true.

Saying something else in that incomprehensible language of his, the man, still dressed in his menacing armor from the neck down, sounds quite jovial and altogether conversational, not an ounce of intimidation or anger or even fear in his now revealed face. When he is still met with blank looks and confusion, the silver-blonde intruder rolls his violet eyes and lifts an armored hand up.

There are a few shouts as his fingertips glow, but he is touching his lips rather than pointing at anyone else. His magic is directed at himself and it is the only reason he is not immediately attacked for his casting. A moment later, he removes his fingers and speaks again. The Targaryen (because truly, what else could he be?) speaks and his lips do not match the words Jon or anyone else in the hall hears.

"Greetings. I do apologize for the confusion and what not. I imagine that you are not used to anyone simply arriving in the middle of what appears to be a very important meeting. We should be able to understand one another now though, I do hope."

The man looks expectantly at Jon, clearly waiting for a response. After a moment of composing himself, the new King in the North gives it.

"Yes. However, your words do not match the movement of your lips. It is disturbing."

A smile spreads across the warrior's face and he nods.

"Indeed, my magic can only do so much. Rather than outright teach me your language or you mine, it is merely making it so that no matter what words I speak, you all hear exactly what I mean. Useful thing that, a spell I developed myself one lazy snowed in afternoon at the College of Winterhold."

While Jon is processing this, his bannermen are not idle. There is shuffling and mutters and whispers and all are still holding the unmasked intruder at sword point still. Once again, the head of House Glover speaks for them all.

"You have invaded the hall of the King in the North Targaryen. All of your armor and magic will not protect you if your intentions are not peaceful."

There's a pause as the Targaryen man seems to consider this for a moment before nodding. He speaks first to Robett before looking back at Jon and bowing at the waist, surprisingly low for someone who is clearly nobility.

"I am not here to commit violence against you or your King. Your grace, I apologize for the intrusion. It was not my intention to arrive here in this way in your midst. The magic I used to come to this place, to your world… it is not so exact. I had no idea where I would land before my arrival in your hall."

Before Jon could respond, and really this was getting slightly ridiculous, another of his bannermen couldn't seem to resist interjecting.

"Rubbish! You would claim to come from another world? We all know you for what you are Targaryen!"

There is a general sense of agreement from around the hall as the northerners all mutter and whisper to one another yet again, many nodding along with those words. Jon certainly can't deny feeling his own sense of incredulity at the idea that someone so close to the tales of Targaryen looks that they'd all been brought up on could be from another world rather than from the accursed dragon family. Neither he nor anyone else in the room truly knew that there was actually a place where such characteristics were common, across the narrow sea in the island city of Lys.

Still, the honest confusion on the armored man's face as he looked about and then focused back on Jon did make the King in the North feel a bit like he actually had no idea what they were talking about. His next words only firmed up this feeling.

"You've used that word twice now and I am not catching any meaning behind it. I assumed this 'Targaryen' was either a derogatory term or a word for stranger in your tongue. But I sense it holds deeper meaning. If I am a Targaryen, explain to me what that entails please, so I may defend myself properly."

Seeking to gain back control of his hall, Jon preempted his bannermen by speaking up before they could.

"The Targaryens are a family, a House. They once ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros in an unbroken line that went back over three hundred years. The first of them, Aegon the Conqueror, arrived on the shores of this continent and used dragons to force six of the seven kingdoms into submission during his conquest. You must understand stranger, you bear all physical similarities to records of the Targaryen House, so much so that everyone in this hall recognizes you as a member of that family. Your armor, draconic in nature as it is, does not help."

The intruder's purple eyes light up briefly as he smiles a bit wider, taking in all of what Jon has to say and almost seeming giddy by the time that the King in the North is finished speaking. Though he does pause at that last sentence, looking down at himself and letting out a light laugh.

"Ah, this? This actually isn't dragonbone. I have a set of armor made of dragonbone as well, but this is Daedric Armor. Far different truthfully."

Seeing that his little correction really isn't getting him anything but more nonplussed stares, the armored young man coughs and clears his throat, before hastily reaching down to his belt to grab a small pouch hanging unassumingly there. His quick movements are met with some tension and apprehension from those around him and swords move closer, armor clinking as the northerners react aggressively.

Pausing, the silver-blonde man looks about as if he's supremely unimpressed by all the blades pointed his way. In fact, if Jon didn't know any better he would say that until now, the armored intruder hadn't even noticed them. Ignoring the threat of bodily harm, the Targaryen instead reached into his pouch, his entire gauntlet disappearing within, impossibly enough. As gasps of shock and wide eyes fill the hall, the man pulls out an old, slightly dirty white and gold blanket.

"Please, I must ask a boon of you your grace. Have one of your men study this blanket. I must know what the words embroidered on it mean. I have waited all my life for this moment, but I think it has finally come."

There is a pause as the man in menacing armor holds out a not-so-menacing piece of cloth, purple eyes wide and hopeful. Everyone waits with baited breath, but Jon just nods and gestures for Robett to take the cloth. The Lord Glover does so, grabbing it out of the intruder's outstretched hand and using one hand to fiddle with it until he can read the embroidery that the armored man is talking about.

Robett's face goes white and Jon begins to grow concerned as the Lord sputters and scowls, an angry red covering up the white a moment later. The Lord of Deepwood Motte bites out a name and then tosses the cloth aside, taking his sword in both hands and striking.

"Aegon Targaryen!"

There is pandemonium as Jon's eyes widen and he shouts for Robett to stop. But it is too late. The old northerner's sword descends on the armored intruder's unprotected head even as others move forward as well, incensed by the name on the blanket. There is no true personal hatred here, merely a bad blood that reaches back three hundred years. These are northerners that have just finished proclaiming their SECOND King in the North. And the last time Aegon Targaryen came to the North, they lost the right to have a King.

A dozen attacks on the Targaryen man's person happen in just as many seconds as Jon looks on in horror, unable to stop the immediate and ferocious response. His horror turns to wide eyed shock and awe in short order though and that is mirrored by his sister, Baelish, and many of his bannermen as not a single attack does anything to the young man.

Swords glance off of the intruder's seemingly unprotected head, sharpened blades sliding over silver-blonde looks and doing absolutely nothing in terms of damage. Those that aim for the body are bodily thrown back as they hit something an inch out from the now named Daedric Armor. Northerners are thrown into each other and the dozen men that attack the intruder end up causing a bit of a wide, empty circle to appear around his unmoving form as they knock back people and tables inadvertently.

"Enough!"

It is only in the silence that follows the failed attack on the Targaryen's person that Jon is heard. It rankles a bit, but he has never been very prideful, so it is only a bit. Eyes wide and breath coming out shortly, Jon stares at the being before him, no longer so sure that he is facing a simple man any longer. Not even a Targaryen could have survived an onslaught like that and if Jon remembered his lessons right, Targaryens were said to be immune to FIRE at times, not STEEL.

The silver-blonde young man still standing in the same spot where he first appeared looks around with some level of amusement before lifting up his hands again, palms out to show peace as he turns his gaze back Jon. There's a cocky little grin on his face and an arrogance in his purple eyes that rubs Jon the wrong way, but the King in the North is forced to admit that the stranger has earned a bit of arrogance after that display.

"Tis alright, no harm done. Still, that's who I am? Aegon Targaryen? I suppose it rolls off the tongue nicely enough. But didn't you say Aegon was a Conqueror of some sort in this world? I can assure you, I've never conquered. Truthfully, I've done a great deal in my short life, but conquering? Not yet."

There's a twinkle in his eyes as he says it and Jon feels an urge to growl. The Targaryen, Aegon even, was clearly fucking with them, but only Jon actually had a direct view of the man's face. Well, he and Sansa. Glancing to his half-sister to see how the seated young woman was taking all of this, Jon found something he liked even less than the intrusion into his hall. Sansa Stark was staring at the armored Targaryen with undisguised interest, her eyes wide and her nostrils flared.

Jon had only seen that look on one woman before. His Ygritte, after she'd watched him accomplish a feat of strength. While Sansa was no Wildling, on Ygritte it had indicated arousal. Jon could only hope that was not the case here. Looking back to the Targaryen, he opened his mouth to speak, only for Littlefinger to finally interject.

"If I may your grace… while it is unlikely that this is Aegon the Conqueror, or some sort of… other worldly version of him, there was another Aegon Targaryen, far more recently in fact. The only son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. He was believed murdered as a babe by Lannister men the day that King's Landing fell to your father and Robert Baratheon. Interestingly enough, if he is who he says he is, he actually has a stronger claim to the Iron Throne than Daenerys Stormborn, who would be his aunt."

Both Jon and Aegon look to Petyr. The older man simply smiles and bows slightly, stepping back having said his piece. It's a testament to Baelish's ability to melt back into the background that they both dismiss him readily. Or perhaps it's his inherent sliminess that seems the two disregarding him. Brown eyes stare into purple and the King in the North looks upon another of Royal Blood.

Aegon's lips quirk up slightly.

"Well, I've accumulated a lot of titles in my life, but I've not been a King yet. I hope this Iron Throne isn't yours your Grace. I do not wish to offend, but your seat looks distinctly wooden."

His bannermen bristle for him, but Jon is suddenly able to find a strange sense of calm as he regards the young man in front of him. While it is clear that Aegon has experienced much and holds untold power within himself, Jon Snow is not some wet-behind-the-ears pup, not anymore. Smiling humorlessly, Jon shakes himself.

"The Iron Throne sits to the south. A Lannister sits upon it. If you want it, you're welcome to it. We in the North have more pressing matters to attend to."

Oddly enough, Jon could see that it was the latter half of his statement that Aegon latched onto, rather than the first half. A glimmer of interest appearing in the other man's purple eyes.

"Pressing matters you say? Now you've piqued my curiosity. Is there something I can help with your Grace? I have long been a friend of those with and without power. I'm more of a wanderer than a royal, regardless of what my blood or any of the Jarls back in my homeland might think. If there's something you need done, I'd be happy to help."

Jon pauses as silence falls in the hall as he and all of the northerners in the room realize how absolutely stupid they've been. Even he, even Jon who was NOT supposed to be overly prideful, had fallen into this trap of seeing the intruder as nothing but another enemy to be vanquished, one way or another. Just before the Targaryen's arrival, Jon had thought to himself that petty blood feuds and old enmity could not be allowed to flourish any longer and yet here he was, attempting to send their best chance at a strong ally south.

The King in the North's mouth opens and closes a few times as stunner northerners look to him for guidance and the newly minted Aegon Targaryen looked on with a patient smile on his face. Finally, Jon found the words. There could only be one answer to the offer, given what they faced.

"Yes. There is much we need done and the threat we face is not something one man, even a man like you can face alone. But your help would be greatly appreciated Aegon Targaryen."

There's some muttering around the hall, but the majority of his people seem to understand that this was a man who would be better used as an ally, rather than alienated and turned into an enemy. Aegon's smile grows wider and he claps his gauntleted hands together, startling several of the northerners around him.

"Wonderful! Though I will confess, I'm not so sure about this new name yet. Aegon Targaryen… I'll have to think about whether or not I'll lay claim to it quite yet. I've lived my whole life as someone else. For now though, please… call me Dovahkiin."

There's a pause as that word fails to 'translate'. Jon frowns but before he can ask the obvious, Aegon's smile grows another notch and he preempts the King in the North.

"It means Dragonborn in the language of their species. Seems that regardless of the world, I'm tied to them one way or the other. Now, great King in the North… please tell me what I can do for you."

Letting loose a long, low breath, Jon began to tell his story once again, explaining the Wall, the Night's Watch, the threat beyond it and the events of the last few years. He told Aegon Targaryen, as he'd told so many others, of the Night King and his army of Dead. The King in the North expected the smile to fall from the Targaryen's face. He expected derision and disbelief and incredulity.

What he got instead was a progressively bigger and bigger smile as Aegon Targaryen's grin soon seemed to split his face from ear to ear, showing off rows of pearly white teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Alrighty, I started Chapter 2 last night and had extra time tonight, so I finished it. I can't say whether there will be a third chapter or not, fair warning.**

 **I actually tried to do something akin to a deep and meaningful sex scene here, rather than just smut. Let me know how I did on that I suppose. I figure I gave it a good try but my smut writing probably affected it anyways.**

 **-x-X-x-**

There was a knock at her door. Sansa Stark continued to brush her long, fiery red hair as she called out.

"Yes?"

A guard's voice answered her.

"Milady, the honored guest Dovahkiin has requested an audience. Shall I turn him away?"

Sansa pressed her full, pouty lips together tightly, until they were white instead of their usual vibrant pink. She looked at herself in the mirror and made sure her face was as bereft of expression as possibly, composing her features into a proper emotionless gaze. All the while, her heart beat rapidly within her breast and to her embarrassment; she grew slightly wet betwixt her thighs.

"… Let him in."

There's a note of worry in the guard's voice when he responds.

"Milady?"

While Sansa does not believe this specific guard was at the meeting where all present got a demonstration of Aegon Targaryen's power, she assumes word has already begun to spread. It amuses her to think how such fantastical facts could possibly already be embellished. Rather than being untouchable and capable of magic, perhaps the young Targaryen was now fire breathing and capable of outright flight. Letting out a sigh, Sansa stood from where she sat and turned to the door, her hands folded together in front of her as she called out in a more commanding tone.

"I said let him in. I will be fine."

There's a pause but the door opens and the Targaryen is admitted. Sansa's breath hitches and her heart skips a beat before she's able to properly control herself at the sight of him. Aegon is no longer wearing his menacing and foreboding armor, leaving him dressed down to a tunic, a pair of trousers, and boots. His figure is on full display and oh what a figure the young man cuts. Aegon Targaryen is gorgeous in every sense of the word, his features that of three hundred years of Westerosi ruling class, but his body was also fit and musclebound, his arms bulging beneath the ill-fitting tunic and his chest nearly bursting out of the thing.

Sansa belatedly realizes she's staring and glances back up to meet the young man's vibrant purple eyes. She finds mirth in his gaze and knows immediately that she's been caught. The woman does not allow herself to blush though, keeping her composure as she steps forward and lifts a brow questioningly.

"Yes? What is it?"

Aegon's eyes stay fixed on her face, but even so she can see the way he's studying her features. His gaze trails over her lips and nose and cheeks before he finally looks at her directly.

"Apologies my lady. That is what brings me to you. I could not help notice that while I was treating with your brother, you were petrified with fear by my appearance. It was not my intention to bring terror to a visage of beauty such as yourself. I wished to say sorry, as well as to show you I am not quite so frightening or intimidating when in a more relaxed setting."

Sansa presses her lips together as she stares at the Targaryen for a long moment of silence. Finally, she answers him; once she's sure her voice will not crack and give her away."

"I was not petrified with fear. You did not scare me, Aegon Targaryen, not with my brother and a hall full of his bannermen right there surrounding you. I was merely… surprised."

It was a half-truth, but then as Baelish had taught her, half-truths were the best kinds of truth, while also being the best kinds of lies. Point being, she had not been petrified with fear and she had in fact been surprised. But there was more than that. Sansa had not stared at Aegon in wide eyed silence out of terror; she had done so because of a roaring, raging hunger that coursed through her the moment he had shown his face. It had only gotten worse when he had then shown his strength.

Ultimately, Sansa Stark had it bad for the Targaryen before her. But she was also the woman that the last several years had molded her into. She could not simply become a blushing maiden with a crush around this man. It was no longer in her nature to do so. Yet, despite knowing that she was still outwardly emotionless, she thought she saw knowledge of all that she'd just thought in Aegon's gaze as he smirked at her. It was like he knew exactly what she'd truly been feeling in the hall and was merely using the pretense of worrying over her fear to speak with her.

The young man took a step closer to her, his smile sly and beguiling, roguish yet in a way that made Sansa grow even wetter, much to her annoyance.

"That is good to hear my Lady. I've been told I can be intimidating and imposing by many a woman before you. Yet, it is never my intention to intimidate."

"And is it your intention to impose?"

The words, sharp and unyielding, come out of Sansa's mouth before she can stop them. Regardless of her tone, she realizes with some minor dismay that she's being drawn into a flirtatious game with the Targaryen before her. Minor, because the rest of her is currently enjoying herself too damn much to truly be that overwrought about it.

Aegon's smile grows wider and he takes another step closer to her, staring down into her vivid blue irises with his own striking, vibrant purples.

"I never impose on a woman who does not wish for it, let alone a lady."

Sansa can't help herself. She knows she does not love this man before her, and yet for some reason she can't help but desire him.

"And if the lady wishes to be imposed upon?"

Her tone is slightly breathless and if Sansa has any one complaint that would be it. She wishes she could stay completely composed for this exchange, maintaining an ironclad, uncaring façade throughout. She cannot. Aegon Targaryen has aroused her and she finds her blood boils at the thought of kissing him. His very kissable lips curl into a slightly wider smile and then close in as he steps into her personal space. Their faces are only inches apart now.

"Well, I've never been very good at denying a lady, my Lady San-mmph!"

In the end, it was the wolf that made the first move, even as the dragon looked ready to eat her right up. Sansa Stark lunged forward and planted her lips firmly on that of the Targaryen man in front of her. She kissed him heatedly, a wet smacking sound that only got louder when he slowly wrapped his arms around her and joined the fun. As she'd thought, Aegon was an exceptionally good kisser. The two made out for several long minutes and despite her cold exterior, Sansa found herself melting in the Targaryen's warm embrace all the same.

She was close to something when Aegon finally pulled back and smiled at her.

"I would do more than just kiss you my lady… if you would allow it."

Would she? More importantly, should she? Sansa knew the answer to both of those questions and they were not aligned with one another. In the end, the Stark girl gave up on what she should do; tossing aside all of Baelish's whisperings on how to properly play the game that were always going in the back of her head. She didn't want to play the game right now. She didn't want to consider her position or his. She didn't want to focus on their names and the histories of their two houses.

In this instant, as Sansa discarded her furs and then undid the clasps on her heavy, utilitarian dress, she was but a woman and he, but a man. His eyes feasted upon her beauty as she dropped the dress to the floor and her smallclothes soon followed. Sansa stood before the hungry draconic man in front of her and held her chin high. There was no shame or remorse. There was no attempt to hide herself from his gaze.

Laid bare, all Sansa could do was wait for his reaction. She expected something akin to what she'd done if she was being honest. Sansa knew her beauty quite well at this point. She knew her desirability. So, it wasn't much of a stretch for the young woman to assume that Aegon would drop his pants, reveal his cock, and take her to bed. They would fuck and it would be exactly what she needed.

He did not do this though, at least not at first. He walked to her without stripping down and took her face in his hands, his calloused palms running across her soft, smooth cheeks as he kissed her. She moved to grab the drawstring of his trousers herself, but he preempted her, guiding her gently, yet firmly to the bed, pushing her back so her upper half was laid out on it and her legs were dangling off the side.

Then, as she looked down the slope of her body at him, the Targaryen man did the strangest thing. He descended to his knees right there in front of her, almost as if in supplication. His hands came up and grasped at the flesh under her, where her thighs met her buttocks. He spread her legs wide and pulled her close and only belatedly did Sansa realize his intentions.

The she wolf was not at all prepared for this. Her beautiful blue eyes widened and her flaming mane of red hair flew back with her head as her lips parted. A breathless moan left her mouth after feeling Aegon's tongue on her mound. He worked his way up and down her slit with what was obviously clear experience. He focused on her clit, the tip of his tongue diddling the small nub in a way that caused her body to undulate, her breasts jiggling as she moaned all the louder.

Realizing that the guard may still be outside her door, Sansa clasped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she looked to it. But there was no one coming in and Aegon did not pause for even a moment. Sansa Stark whimpered as his tongue dug deep inside of her cunt. The flexible muscle wriggled and writhed within her and it was heaven incarnate. How had she never known this pleasure before? How was this not a thing across Westeros, civilized as the continent claimed to be?

Sansa's free hand fisted into Aegon's silver-blonde hair and she made to grind the young man's face deeper in between her thighs, biting down on the hand covering her mouth now to stifle her cries. If the noblewomen of Westeros knew that men were capable of this, would they not have overthrown the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms decades ago, turning them all into their pleasure slaves so that this was the sole purpose they were to be used for?

Her orgasm hit and she saw stars. Her eyes widened and her body shook as her hand fell from her mouth. However, before her loud cries could echo through the room and give their little game away, Aegon's large, calloused hand was atop it. Sansa's eyes widened as the young man looked at her with a smile, his mouth covered in her juices. His fingers were inside of her now as she clenched down rapidly around them. He was bent over her and abruptly, Sansa felt small, oh so small.

The wolf had been seduced by the dragon, but surely she wasn't so easily tamed? It took a moment, but Sansa managed to find her equilibrium again, as Aegon removed his fingers and the pleasure faded. Assessing the situation, the Stark girl confirmed that she still did not actually love the young man before her. She loved what he could do with his tongue, that was for sure, but this was still nothing but stress relief.

And oh what a stress reliever she'd found. Aegon had pushed his pants down his legs and finally revealed his cock. Sansa stared at it down the slope of her nubile, pale young form, blue eyes wide as she looked upon the dragon's length and was left more than a little intimidated. Despite herself, the red head could not help but compare Aegon to the only other man she'd ever had sex with. There was a vicious sense of satisfaction in the realization that Ramsay was smaller, mixed with dread as she remembered the pain of her wedding night with the insane bastard. If that had felt like that, would this not split her in half?

Something of her growing concern must have shown in her face, because Aegon paused only inches from inserting himself inside of her wet and waiting pussy. He placed a hand on her cheek and caught her attention, drawing her from a spiral of fear and remembrance. Sansa had almost been back there, lost in her memories, but abruptly she is looking up into vibrant violet eyes at the most gorgeous, handsome man she's ever seen.

"My lady?"

His concern is genuine as far as Sansa can tell and as a result, twice as gratifying. Swallowing down her dread, Sansa bites her lower lip, wishing that she could go back to being emotionless and in control, but knowing that time is far past. And despite it all, she still wants this. Her burning loins will not allow her to back out now, even if Aegon would probably stand down immediately if she asked him to.

"Just… go slow, please."

Another pause as something unreadable passes through the Targaryen man's gaze. Then he nods and guides himself to her entrance. His tongue has done much of the work for him, even as he fits the massive head of his member inside of her pussy lips and then slowly yet inexorably begins to push. It takes time, because he takes his time, fulfilling Sansa's plea and pushing into her inch by inch as gently as possible.

The Stark girl's breath hitches as she feels it all, her eyes going wide even as her lower lips are stretched around his girth. He slides inside of her and her inner walls welcome him, clutching and clinging to him, rather than trying to push him out, as they'd tried and failed to do with Ramsay. Aegon Targaryen's cock feels surprisingly at home inside of her. Sansa can't help but wonder if this is what all sex is meant to be like, if this is what she missed out on due to a life filled with bastards and noblemen who acted like bastards.

If those in power had been as gentle yet unyielding as Aegon Targaryen, would the continent be where it is now? Aegon slides out of her, only to push back in a bit faster. Sansa can no longer think about hypotheticals as he does this, a loud gasp of shock and pleasure leaving her pouty full lips. A moment later, Aegon is kissing her, muffling her cries and moans as she squirms beneath him.

The dragon is fucking the wolf, but the wolf is not at all forced. In fact, Sansa was enjoying it from the very beginning, his tonguing of her cunt only making it easier for her passage to accept his massive shaft as it had. Now Aegon made love to her, far more tenderly than she'd expected of a man like him. He was kind and attentive and only now did Sansa truly think she might be in danger of falling for him.

Looking back to her earlier thoughts, the red head could not see why perhaps the women of Westeros had not risen up and turned the great Lords and Knights into their pleasure slaves. There was something equally enjoyable, if not more so, about being fucked on one's back by a well-hung stud who knew what he was doing. Sansa gasped into Aegon's mouth and came around his cock, her pussy walls tightening up and her breasts shaking as her body spasmed beneath him.

That would be far from the last though. The next thing Sansa learned was just how much stamina the dragon had. Aegon fucked her for what felt like hours, but the only way that she had to mark passage of time was counting her orgasms. In the end, Sansa lost track at around eleven, too sensitive and too delirious to continue counting. And in the end, when Aegon finally came, she was far too tired to even make note of the fact that he'd filled her womb with his hot seed. Rather, she enjoyed the sensation of being filled by such a masterful performer, crying out into his lips one final time as she felt him paint her walls white.

Aegon pulled out of her and the next thing she knew, she was being tucked into bed. Sansa fell asleep, unable to keep her eyes open as the soft furs and sheets swaddled her. When she woke next, hours later, she was still naked. Aegon was nowhere to be found. That was… good. It was good. Because of course, this was just a one time thing. Sansa had no desire to start a romance right now. She had no intentions of marrying the strange Targaryen from another world.

She… she slowly slid her hand back under the furs to between her thighs, running her fingers over her moistening pussy and whining slightly as she began to touch herself to the memories of what she and the Targaryen man had done.

-x-X-x-

"The King in the North MUST stay in the North!"

They were in Winterfell's hall again. Jon was beginning to dread these meetings with his bannermen, even if he knew how crucial they were. There was still no joy in trying to convince a hundred different personalities, some of which were quite volatile, to see one's point of view when they were so stuck on their own. That last line had come from Lady Lyanna Mormont of all people though, the pintsized female fighter sounding quite final in her speech.

Considering how much of the hall was agreeing with her, as well as the objections of Lords Royce and Glover, Jon knew he was in for a long hard fight to convince his vassals that this was the right call.

"Dragonstone sits on a vein of dragonglass. This information not only comes from Samwell Tarly, it comes from the Citadel itself. I trust the first with my life. We all trust the latter with our history. The path forward is clear, Lords, Ladies. We MUST have the dragonglass. More than that though, we need the Targaryen Queen and her forces if we're going to stop the Army of the Dead."

"Bah! The Targaryen woman cannot be trusted! Targaryens, as a general rule, cannot be trusted! This is a trap your grace and I did not pledge my loyalty to another King in the North just to see you go south! Your father and brother went south as well! Starks do not fare well in the south my King, please!"

The impassioned nature of the plea from Lord Glover makes it all the harder to argue with him. The older man is experienced in a way Jon knows he is not. And Robett isn't wrong either. His words are fact. There is a clamor around the hall as more of Jon's bannermen step in to agree with him. Jon lets out a put upon sigh and glances to his sister to see her reaction. As if waiting for his attention to fall on her, Sansa stands up and adds her opinion to the mix.

"You shouldn't go Jon. They're right; your place is here, in Winterfell. The King in the North belongs in the North. Besides, we don't need the Dragon Queen. We have the Dovahkiin now. Aegon has agreed to take on your task."

"Quest actually, but yes, I'm still on board! Night King, army of draugr, existential threat to all life on Westeros! Sounds like a fantastic romp in the snow!"

Gazes turn to the once more armored 'dragonborn'. Some roll their eyes at his exuberance while some gain confidence from his arrogance. Jon is one of the former. The Targaryen had seemed… relatively normal at first. But he'd gotten stranger and stranger as time went on. The first clue that something was off had come when Jon had finished explaining the threat coming for them from beyond the wall. Aegon had nodded seriously and told Jon he accepted this most dire quest.

Then, the armored man had looked off in a random direction, his gaze turning distant. After a moment, he'd whistled lowly.

"Damn, that quest marker is actually really far away. And sheesh, a bonus objective to kill ten thousand undead singlehandedly? Well, I do love a challenge. Still, if you don't mind, I'll wait a little while and do some side quests around here before I get on that. From what you tell me, if we wait long enough it'll come to us won't it?"

Jon had let it slide, assuming he just wasn't understanding the foreigner. But it had only gotten weirder since then, in a dozen small ways. And then there was Sansa and Aegon. Back in the present, Jon felt himself growing a bit wary of the way Sansa was regarding the armored Targaryen. Aegon's smile was fixed as he looked at Jon, but it felt like the man was glancing to Jon's left every once in a while.

Still, there was a way to fix that, before dragon and wolf got any closer to one another. (Oh if only Jon knew.)

"I am taking the Dovahkiin with me to Dragonstone. Together we will either persuade Daenerys Stormborn of the threat we all face, or we will at least secure the dragonglass for transport North."

Sansa's eyes widen dramatically and his sister looks shocked, even as the hall erupts into voices. Jon stays silent, letting the clamor die down. At the very least, Aegon looks interested, a glint in his eyes betraying his impatience. The self-described wanderer had been cooped up in Winterfell for weeks now after all.

"You would bring two Targaryens together and place yourself at their mercy, with your army and your lands leagues away? My King, please reconsider this folly!"

It didn't matter who said it, because the wave of agreement was nearly overwhelming. Abruptly, Jon felt old beyond his years and tired beyond measure. Did his people truly not understand? Without dragonglass, hell without the Targaryen Queen's armies and dragons, the North was doomed. They did not have the people to hold the Army of the Dead back if the Wall failed them. And deep in his heart, Jon knew that the Wall would fail them. It was a matter of when, not if in his mind.

As he gathered his thoughts and prepared to convince his bannermen once again of a crazy scheme that none of them agreed with, Jon's eyes actually fell upon Aegon and he stopped short. Rather than give yet another speech, Jon decided he would see what his newest source of advice had to say.

"And you, Dovahkiin. What would you have me do?"

There's a bit of outrage at that, northerners getting vocally disgruntled as their King turns to what many of them still see as a foreign invader. Jon lifts his hands up though, silencing the crowd. Only when they are mostly quiet does Aegon stand and speak, looking around briefly and then focusing back on Jon.

"Well your grace, I have to say, you are the most active ruler I have ever met. The Jarls and Kings and Queens that I worked for back in Skyrim… they were all lazy. I mean, I'm sure they did other things when I wasn't around, but as far as I know they never even left their castles! Every time I met with one of them, they were sat upon their throne or their high back chair or whatever it was they sat in, and they were all happy to send me across the continent, back and forth to do what they wouldn't."

Aegon pauses, the hall now silent as everyone listens to the handsome man speak, his voice rich and deep in a way that was pleasant to the ear.

"Simply put, while it is quite nice to think that such a pattern might change with you, I have grown used to it. As such, send me on this Quest and remain here to govern your people justly and rightly. I shall return with the dragonglass and if possible, this Dragon Queen's support for our war with the undead as well."

There is a moment of silence and then it is broken by sounds of agreement, rising in volume, from all over the hall. It is clear what his bannermen desire. Looking to his sister, it is clear that Sansa is upset; her lips pressed tightly together as she stares daggers at the Dovahkiin. More than anything else, that's what seals the deal for Jon. He hates to see his sister upset, but he hates to see her mooning over the Targaryen man even more.

"Very well."

Sansa's gaze is now on him, burning a hole through the side of his head as he agrees to the Dovahkiin's suggestion.

"You will go to Dragonstone for me and you will acquire all the dragonglass that you can carry. Davos Seaworth, you will escort the Dovahkiin to Dragonstone and act as my direct emissary to this Dragon Queen. May good fortune follow you both."

Davos startles at being addressed but stands all the same, bowing low and acquiescing without a single word of protest. It's Aegon that reacts strangely, a wide smile across his face as he spins around and looks off into the distance.

"The marker is closer this time, though not by much. Still, now that I've been to Winterfell, I'm sure I can get back in time for the Main Quest when necessary. This Side Quest will be a fun bit of distraction in the main time. I'll even get to meet my aunt I suppose."

Spinning back around, Aegon bows to a nonplussed King in the North and then to Sansa as well as the two stare at him. The self-proclaimed dragonborn is grinning from ear to ear as he does so.

"Your Grace. Lady Sansa. I will return soon with the dragonglass."

And then he left, just like that. Northerners parted for him like a sea and Davos had to run to catch up as the armored Targaryen man pushed through the doors of the hall, out into the cold… and then promptly took off in a sprint towards the main gates. Jon watched on, bemused as Davos let out a curse and then disappeared out the doors after him.

It… rankled slightly, to be stuck here in Winterfell. He was not used to being a King. He was not used to being anything but a bastard or a crow. An adventure had sounded like fun, in the farthest corners of Jon's mind. And now he would be going nowhere. The only one more unhappy about this turn of events than Jon was Littlefinger. Lord Petyr Baelish stood by the wall, no smile to be found on his face.

Having the King in the North travel to Dragonstone would have been quite nice for his plans and knowing how stubborn the bastard of Ned Stark was, Petyr was sure that Jon had made up his mind and would not be dissuaded from his course. Unfortunately, now he had been. And with the King in the North remaining IN the North, Baelish's manipulations would have to proceed far more slowly than he'd have liked.

Unfortunate, but when one played the game of thrones, one had to learn patience. He'd waited this long. A while longer would not matter much.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Got a rather amusing poorly written, long-form review that assumed quite a lot about the direction of this piece and seemed not at all happy that this story existed in the first place.**

 **So to you reviewer, here's a third chapter. Because if you didn't want to keep seeing this story in the GoT section, leaving me a review like that was a bad idea. I'm all the more inspired to keep writing this now ;)**

 **-x-X-x-**

Tyrion Lannister, Hand to the Queen, was not happy. But then how could he be, given the circumstances? Unless Jon Snow had somehow aged something like thirty to forty years since they last met, the man currently disembarking from the boat before him was not Jon Snow. The King in the North had snubbed Daenerys and sent someone else to treat with her in his place.

This did not bode well, but more than that, Tyrion was put off by the armored being behind the old man even more. The figure's armor was menacing and intimidating, all jagged black edges, with a helm that screamed draconic. And when he disembarked, he did not follow the rest of the northerners towards the greeting party. Instead he turned and began to walk down the beach in the opposite direction.

The dwarf's eyes widened and he rushed forward, even as the old man at the head of the North's delegation gave a bone weary smile and took off a glove in order to offer his hand.

"Ser Davos Seaworth, at your service. I know I'm no King in the Nor-"

"Who is that? What's he doing? Call him back here this instant."

Tyrion completely cuts off the old man, this… Davos Seaworth, in favor of the far more pressing matter at hand. Beside him, he can feel Missandei's worry as well, though the beautiful young woman stays quiet for the time being. Meanwhile, if Davos had looked weary before, now he simply looked tired. He glanced back at the departing figure. The armored being had turned off from his course and was now heading for what looked like a cave entrance.

Rather than do as Tyrion commanded, Davos coughs into his bared hand and adopts a surprised look on his bearded face.

"He's not with you? We met with him in White Harbor and he told us he was there to escort us to Dragonstone! Well, this is a predicament isn't it? Hm."

Tyrion glanced up at the old man and Davos looked right back at him, unblinking. Perhaps if Tyrion was a lesser man (stature not withstanding) he might have actually fallen for that. This 'Ser' Davos Seaworth had a respectable poker face even when he was clearly half-assing a lie. But Tyrion was just as much a swindler, and you don't swindle a swindler easily.

One long look between the two and Davos gave up the little play acting. Letting out a long, drawn out sight, the old man simply shrugged his shoulders.

"He is the Dovahkiin and I cannot call him back because he does not answer to me. As far as I know, he doesn't really answer to anyone."

Tyrion mulled the strange foreign sounding word over in his head, while maintaining his conversation with Davos.

"Then why in the hell did you bring him with you to Dragonstone?"

Davos looked pained.

"He is here to treat with your Queen on behalf of the King in the North. He hopes to convince her to ally with his majesty Jon Snow."

Well, that's not at all what Tyrion had hoped for when he'd sent Jon the message in the first place. Still, there's a more pressing concern on the dwarf's mind.

"So why is he going into some cave, rather than TREATING WITH THE QUEEN?!"

If possible, Davos looked even more pained as he glanced back in the direction that this 'Dovahkiin' had run off in and sighed once more.

"I tried to explain things to him my Lord. He was quite obstinate though. He believes Daenerys will simply sit and wait for his arrival while he completes his other objective on Dragonstone. His words, not mine. He seemed convinced that she wouldn't take offense to it."

Tyrion's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. Seeing his distress, Missandei finally stepped in, though she sounded just as flummoxed as the dwarf felt at this point.

"The Mother of Dragons WILL take offense. Dothraki. Track down our emissary and bring him to the castle at once."

More than half of the Dothraki guards surrounding Tyrion and Missandei move off. They're still left with more than enough to outnumber Ser Davos and the small band of northerners he's brought with him. Once the Dothraki hunting party is near the cave entrance, a supremely confident Missandei turns to said band, a slight smile on her face.

"Please, surrender your weapons and I will show you to the castle. It will be a far kinder trip than this… Dovahkiin will experience, I assure you."

Tyrion was actually surprised at how fast the old man surrendered his sword, but once he'd done so the northerners with him did the same. With all of their guests disarmed and present except for the armored monstrosity that had disappeared into the cave Tyrion let out a sigh and alongside Missandei, moved to escort the northern party up to the castle above. This little rendezvous was NOT off to a good start. The dwarf sorely wished that Jon could have just come himself. All of this headache may have been avoided at that point.

It was only once they were halfway up the steps that one of the last things Davos said finally struck the half-man. Tyrion whirled on the old man, his eyes narrowing.

"Hold. You said this stranger has another objective on Dragonstone. What IS that objective?"

It was clear from the look on Davos' face that he thought he'd gotten away with simply slipping that one in. Licking his lips and swallowing thickly, the old man simply shrugged again.

"Dragonglass. He's here to mine dragonglass as well."

Tyrion just stared for a brief second, before responding rather faintly.

"Oh."

Davos just nodded, grimacing as if he understood exactly what Tyrion was currently feeling. The Hand of the Queen turned back around and kept walking, but his mind was racing. How could he possibly salvage this kind of situation? He supposed the Dothraki bringing this wayward emissary before Daenerys in chains would definitely be a good start.

-x-X-x-

Ser Davos Seaworth was an old man. The Onion Knight had been through a lot. He'd seen a lot. He'd seen the dead rise in multiple ways; he'd seen one King die and now tried faithfully to serve another. But his loyalty to Jon did strain a bit with the young man asking him to do this. It would have been one thing to travel to Dragonstone with the King in the North, even if Davos would have counseled against going in the first place vehemently.

But traveling to Dragonstone without the King in the North and more than that, WITH this Dragonborn fellow… it stretched one's sanity to the breaking points. Setting aside the fact that he truly wasn't sure how to breach the subject of Aegon's identity with the Dragon Queen or any of her people, there was also the simple truth that the 'Dovahkiin' was bat shit insane!

And worse, the world seemed to bend to his insanity, rather than rightfully striking him down as the crazy fucker he was! Davos thought back to the trip to White Harbor and then to Dragonstone and shuddered, eyes squeezing shut. He put those events out of his mind and focused on the here and now. Or at least, he tried to. There wasn't much to focus on right now, as he and the others had been kept waiting for the last twenty minutes.

It was to be expected he supposed. The Dragon Queen would feel slighted twice over and Davos wasn't even supposed to be treating with her anyways. In the end, it was Aegon who should have been here, forced to wait as the Targaryen woman took her anger at Jon's snub out on him. But no, Aegon had decided he had time to go mine enough dragonglass to supply the entire fucking North before meeting with the Queen!

At this point, Davos was almost hoping that the doors would open and the Dragonborn would be dragged in by Dothraki Screamers. Might teach the man some humility. Alas, that was not to be and Davos really shouldn't have expected anything different than what he ultimately got. The doors that led to the outside of the castle slammed open and a Dothraki flew back as Aegon, still fully armored, walked inside with no weapon but his spiked fists.

There were more Dothraki at his back, screaming at him and striking at him with their weapons. Their actions amounted to nothing as Aegon approached where Davos and the northern soldiers were sat waiting. They all scrambled to their feet as the Dothraki attacks died off and the Dragonborn cocked his concealed head to the side.

"Davos. These all are the Queen's men right?"

Slowly, the old man nodded. The Dragonborn tsk'd in response.

"Damn, thought so. They've been incredibly annoying, but my nonlethal strikes are really hit and miss these days. All I can really do is throw them and hope they don't land wrong. Anyways, looks like they've stopped for now. Shall we go see this Queen?"

Davos' eyes widened but before he could do more than open his mouth and reach out a hand to try and stop the younger man, Aegon had turned, marched right up to the doors that led to the throne room, and pushed them open, revealing the small court beyond. Daenerys Stormborn sat on her throne and her advisors stood around her, ostensibly talking to her. Though when Aegon barged in, they all turned to face him, eyes wide.

Davos turned his out stretched hand into a palm on his face. Oh by the Seven, could this day get any worse?

"Greetings Daenerys Targaryen! I am Dovahkiin and I come on behalf of House Stark and the King in the North to beseech you! Please, lend King Snow your assistance in defeating the Night King and the Army of the Dead that march even now toward your lands from beyond the Wall!"

… He supposed it could.

-x-X-x-

To say Daenerys was outraged would be an understatement. But her anger and irritation and annoyance were slightly overshadowed by her confusion at the sheer audacity of this intruder. More than that, she was a bit put off by the draconic appearance of his armor. Why was an emissary of House Stark dressed like one of the Targaryen dragon riders of old? Was it to put her at ease? Because if so, this Dovahkiin's actions so far had run contrary to that intention.

Still, with the armored figure now standing before her, not in chains, not on his knees as she'd expected, Daenerys had to react somehow. Seeing her Dothraki run into the throne room after him, only to array around him rather than attack, the Dragon Queen decided to focus on something she knew she could focus on specifically.

"The dragonglass. Where is it?"

The Dovahkiin cocked his head to the side in confusion and despite his helm covering his face; Daenerys could sense that he was honestly surprised by the question.

"Your Grace?"

Daenerys pressed her lips together until they were nothing but a fine line.

"I have been told that you came here for two purposes. One was to treat with me; the other was to mine dragonglass. I would see the fruits of your labor. Where is the obsidian that was so important you decided I could sit and wait while you gathered it?"

The armored warrior was most DEFINITELY taken aback now. He actually looked a little ridiculous, wearing such intimidating armor while also rearing back in surprise.

"I… well; these folk distracted me before I could really gather much of it."

Daenerys' eyes shift to her Dothraki as this Dovahkiin gestures towards the lot arrayed around him. One of her Captains stepped forward up alongside the armored man.

"He lies. This demon mined the black glass from within the cave for several minutes at an impossible rate while we attempted and failed to bring him down. He is no man. He is untouchable."

To illustrate his point, the Dothraki reached out rather fearlessly and slashed his sword towards the Dovahkiin's side. His attack had no effect on the being's armor beyond drawing an indignant 'hey!' from him. Her loyal Captain ignored the armored figure and simply stepped back, having said his piece. Daenerys stared and the Dovahkiin seemed to humorously wilt under her gaze, having been caught in his lie.

"Alright, alright! So I took some dragonglass. Here, just say when."

Daenerys' eyes widened as the armored figure held out his hand palm down and large shards of dragon glass the size of dinner plates appeared miraculously from thin air. The throne room went silent beyond the sound of the mineral striking itself as it slowly formed a large pile on the ground. It just kept going and everyone watched on in shock, Davos and the northmen included. Eventually, the Dovahkiin simply closed his hand as the mound of dragonglass almost got high enough to obscure him from Daenerys' view.

Clearing his throat, the armored figure shrugged.

"There you go. You can have it back. All yours. Sorry about that and all."

… There was a mound of obsidian sitting in the middle of her throne room. That was going to have to be removed. Getting past her shock, Daenerys attempted to recompose herself as she stared down the impossible being before her. She gathered up her scattered anger and harnessed it as her hands clenched into fists.

"Your King in the North sends you to treat with me? An irreverent stranger? My Hand asked Jon Snow here so he could bend the knee to the proper Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Do you deny my claim on his behalf?"

The Dovahkiin lifted up his gauntleted hands and showed his palms in a gesture of surrender.

"Nope! Not doing that! And he's not my King your Grace, I assure you. I'm just doing this Quest for him. I claim no allegiance to the King in the North or anyone for that matter. Just a guy who likes to help. As the Dragonborn back in Skyrim, it was kind of my duty to save the world. So I did that, but now it seems like your world needs a bit of saving too and since it IS my birthplace and all-…"

"Shut up. Be Silent NOW!"

Daenerys roared that last word as the Dovahkiin rambled on and on about ridiculous things. She was enraged and she wanted nothing more than to feed this man to one of her dragons. Drogon would undoubtedly enjoy the snack. As if sensing her distress, the angry cries of her dragons shake the building. Daenerys stands firm while everyone else in the court room looks around nervously. Except for the damnable Dovahkiin. He just looked irritated.

"Ugh. Younglings."

The Dragon Queen was thoroughly done with the incomprehensible, impossibly strange figure before her. He appeared menacing, but was clearly not threatening. He seemed intimidating, but made absolutely no sense. She opened her mouth to expel both him and the northerners that had come with him from her keep. She didn't even want to take them prisoner at this point, she was fully prepared to let them all leave, so long as they departed right this instant.

Before she could say a single word, Varys entered the throne room and moved to where she stood. His words, whispered in her ear, horrified her, though she was careful not to let any of that show on her face. With the Targaryen fleet ambushed on the Narrow Sea, her Greyjoy allies and her Dornish allies were abruptly lost to her. Her plan to siege King's Landing crumbled before her eyes. For a brief moment, Daenerys was at a loss of what to do.

"Your Grace…"

Her eyes snap up to meet the Dovahkiin's frightening visage, though she is far from afraid. Still, he speaks and she listens, too shocked by Varys' news to properly rebuke the failure of an emissary.

"I couldn't help overhearing the news. I have excellent hearing. Perhaps there is a way I can help you and in turn, you can perhaps consider the alliance with the King in the North. Give me a Quest to rescue or avenge your allies and I assure you I will bring proof of my success in but a few days."

Daenerys stared in disbelief, her composure finally cracking in the face of such… such stupidity!

"They are leagues away you imbecile! Their captors have armies and fleets at their command! How?! How do you propose to save or avenge them in DAYS?!"

The Targaryen Queen's outburst shocks the hall into silence, but much to her increasing anger, the Dovahkiin is not cowed by her impeccable logic. Instead, he adopts a calm, soothing tone that does anything BUT sooth her.

"Please your Grace. Give me the Quest."

She wants to yell and rant and scream at him. She almost does so, but before Daenerys opens her mouth, she realizes something and changes tacks.

"Very well. Go then, Dovahkiin. Recover Ellaria Sand and the Sand snakes or avenge their deaths. Recover Yara Greyjoy and Theon Greyjoy or avenge their deaths. Do this and I will grant you another audience. Until then, stay out of my sight."

Why not, right? There was no chance of the armored figure managing it, but he'd either die in the attempt or never come before her again. Either way, getting the impossible man away from her definitely felt like the right course of action. However, rather than leaving immediately, the Dovahkiin spun in place and hummed thoughtfully.

"Hm, as I thought, timed quest. Yara Greyjoy isn't dying any time soon, but Ellaria Sand and Tyene Sand are. This Tyene has a day left to life and Ellaria has a month. Obara Sand and Nymeria Sand are dead and immediate fails, but luckily their killer is right next to Yara Greyjoy. I can kill two birds with one stone there an-."

"LEAVE!"

The Dovahkiin pauses and glances at her as Daenerys stares at him bug eyed, knowing her face has turned an unflattering shade of red yet not caring in the slightest. The armored figure bows and spins on his heel, departing out the doors he'd come through. Breathing heavily, Daenerys finds herself needing to know he's actually gone. She moves to follow and those in the throne room follow her. Her advisors close ranks around her and her Dothraki form up around them. The northmen trail along seemingly almost as lost as she is at this point.

The entire group makes it to the entryway doors just in time to watch something awe-inspiring and in Daenerys' case, a mixture of shocking and horrifying and intriguing all at once.

" **OD! AH! VIING!"**

There is immense power in those words and as the Dovahkiin shouts them, Daenerys' own dragons immediately dive down out of sight out of the corner of her eye. Though she does not realize it in that moment, they are cowering. They're smart to as well, as the sky above the armored figure's head splits open like cracks in a pane of glass and a monstrous massive dragon flies down from above. He barely fits in the courtyard, but he does fit.

An exchange of more powerful words that have no meaning to Daenerys or anyone around her later, Dovahkiin mounts Dragon and Dragon flies away across the ocean, presumably towards her captured allies. Daenerys gapes, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Her composure is beyond shattered by this point, but then, so is everyone else's.

Whirling around, the Dragon Queen stomps over to the old man she'd been making wait. Tyrion had told her the knight's name but Daenerys didn't call him by it.

"You!"

Davos' gaze snapped to her and he swallowed thickly.

"Me?"

As off balance as she was, the Targaryen woman didn't even comment on Davos' cheek. Instead she merely pointed at the disappearing speck in the distance and snarled in the old man's face.

"Who is he?! WHO IS HE?!"

There's spittle flying out of her mouth but Daenerys doesn't care. She looks like her father the Mad King in that moment, but Daenerys doesn't care. All she cares about is this man's answer to her very SIMPLE question. Ser Davos Seaworth swallows thickly.

"He's… well, he's the Dovahkiin. A-and apparently in his tongue, that means Dragonborn. But before he was that, I suppose we all knew him as Aegon Targaryen, firstborn son to Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell… your nephew."

The old man wasn't lying. That was the worst part. Daenerys had gotten pretty good at telling facts from fiction and as far as this Davos Seaworth knew, he was speaking truth. Spinning away from him, Daenerys stared at the disappearing dot on the horizon that moments before had been a dragon twice, perhaps even thrice as large as any one of hers.

Everyone shied away when the Dragon Queen let loose an inarticulate cry of pure frustration and confusion.

-x-X-x-

Leagues away, Odahviing tilted his head to the side and snorted derisively.

"You upset that one something fierce Dragonborn."

Aegon merely shrugged from his place atop the great dragon he was riding towards the most time sensitive quest marker.

"You know how it is. Sometimes ladies love me, sometimes they hate me. I'll grow on her eventually, I'm sure."

Odahviing just chuckled, the dragon far more relaxed with the weight of his service to Alduin gone from his long, spined neck. After a moment, Aegon joined in and the two laughed uproariously as they continued their flight towards King's Landing.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Here we are with Chapter 4. Just flying by the seat of my pants here.**

 **But really, as long as I'm getting some motivating reviews, I can't help but want to keep writing this story =)**

 **-x-X-x-**

Tear tracks stood out prominently on Ellaria Sand's grime covered face. The Dornish woman choked back another sob, but the drops of salty fluid continued to fall unabashedly from the corners of her eyes. How could she not cry? Any mother would feel sorrow at being forced to watch their child die. The irony of this thought was lost on the woman. She'd never been one to put herself in other's shoes.

Her lover dead, Ellaria had set out to take revenge. And it had led her here, to a Black Cell beneath the Red Keep, watching her poisoned daughter slowly but surely die. It was impossible to keep track of time down here in the Black Cells. The only way Ellaria had to gauge the passage of that ethereal concept were the visits of the guards. They'd come in twice so far to change out the torches and to force her to eat and drink. Going off of that, Ellaria could assume it had been at least half a day, maybe longer.

Half a day since that bitch of a Lannister had kissed her eldest child with death on her lips. Half a day since Tyene had been poisoned, more than likely fatally given their circumstances and the speed of the substance. There was nothing Ellaria could do but sit and watch. She'd struggled against her chains, but they were strong. Tyene too had struggled at first. Now the young woman knelt on her knees the same as Ellaria, head hung low as the poison took more and more of a toll on her.

"Mmmph! Mmmgrh!"

Ellaria tried to call out to her daughter through the gag. She just needed Tyene to look up. She needed to know the girl still breathed, even if it was only for a short time more. At first, her eldest did not move. Ellaria began to panic, but then Tyene's head shifted and slowly, she lifted her gaze to look into her mother's eyes. For a brief moment, Ellaria felt elation when Tyene first started to move. That elation gave way to fresh horror as she saw the blood trailing from Tyene's left nostril and the glassy eyed look on her daughter's face.

Tyene didn't have long now and shamefully, Ellaria almost wished she hadn't spoken up, if only so she hadn't had to see what toll the kiss of death was taking on her beloved child. Fresh tears continued to fall down her grime-covered face and Ellaria sobbed openly, weeping hopelessly. There was no one coming for them. Their remaining allies were across oceans and on the other side of mountains. Their survival was not even firmly known, and none would seek them out down here in the Black Cells.

It was over. All of her plans for revenge had been for not. Oberyn was dead. Obara and Nymeria were dead. Doran and Trystane were dead. And now her daughter would die and she would soon follow her, despite Cersei's plans to keep her alive. Ellaria knew that she would not be able to survive long on simple food and water, not without Tyene to give her purpose. She would wither away and die down here, having destroyed House Martell in her failed quest for vengeance.

Ellaria shuddered. What would Oberyn think of her actions, especially given what they'd led to? She'd killed his brother and his nephew. She'd led his daughters to their deaths. And she'd FAILED. The Mountain still lived! Cersei Lannister still lived! Rather than cry, Ellaria screamed her rage out to the stone ceiling above her, tears of impotent fury mixing with tears of sorrow as she cursed all that ever had been and all that ever was in the sanctity of her own mind.

This continued for some time before even her venomous thoughts grew bitter to her. After that came the begging. She pleaded silently for someone to save her daughter. Anyone would do. She would gladly pledge her loyalty, her body, her soul to the person that walked through that door with the antidote. She'd even kneel before Cersei Lannister herself and eat the bitch's cunt out at this point if it would save her daughter.

She wou-

Ellaria's thoughts were abruptly derailed as the door to their cell opened up and a shadowy figure slipped inside. They were crouched down as they moved into the cell and carefully closed the door behind them. Once they'd done so, the intruder stood up and Ellaria's eyes widened as whatever shadow magic had been obfuscating them suddenly disappeared.

To say the Dornish woman was shocked by the appearance of the stranger was an understatement. But while her first reaction was fear, her second was tentative hope. Before her stood an armored man who could only be described as draconic. If he was sneaking into a cell like this, he could not be one of the Lannister's lapdogs. This lent credence to the idea that he was of the Dragon Queen's forces, a hidden trump card perhaps.

… But too late to save her daughter. Ellaria slumped back from where she'd unconsciously pulled all the way forward until her chains had gone taut upon the realization that SHE was about to be saved, but her daughter would still die without the antidote. Tears began to fall from her eyes again as the armored figure approached and reached down to tear the cloth gag roughly from her mouth.

"No need for tears. I'm here to rescue you."

His flippant tone caused Ellaria's simmering rage to surface. Snarling up at him and uncaring if the guards heard her un-gagged voice or not, the Dornish woman tossed her head towards her daughter.

"If that is true, save HER! I will not leave this place without Tyene!"

Rather than argue with her or claim that her eldest was already on death's door as Ellaria expected, as Ellaria already knew… the strange intruder turned to her glassy eyed daughter and stepped across the skinny cell to where Tyene knelt, swaying from side to side listlessly. He reached out and placed a gauntleted hand atop the young woman's head, causing Ellaria to tense up as she watched with wide eyes.

There was a bright golden glow of light and Ellaria was forced to look away for a brief moment. When it faded, she gazed upon her daughter with hope, only to find that while Tyene looked clean and her wounds were closed, the glassy eyed look was still there, as was the slow nosebleed. Ellaria opened her mouth, but the armored stranger preempted her by falling to a knee. His hand went to a small bag at his belt and he pulled forth a corked up vial, colored red in appearance.

Ellaria watched in shock. Was this the antidote? How had this man known to come with it? He opened up the vial as such things whirled through the Dornish woman's mind. Tipping Tyene's head back, the armored figure tore her gag away as well and then drained the vial right down her throat, his spiked fingers surprisingly gentle on her throat as he forced her to swallow it down.

In moments, Tyene began to regain her color. The life flooded back into her right before Ellaria's eyes. Her eldest daughter blinked dumbly, as if fully processing her surroundings for the first time in a while. When she came face to face with the intimidating draconic helm belonging to her savior, who at this point was only inches from her, she did the predictable thing… and screamed.

"Tyene! Tyene calm yourself! He saved you! Tyene you must be quiet!"

Ellaria shout-hissed at her daughter, but the sound of many footsteps was already heading down the hallway outside their cell. The armored figure slowly rose to face the door as Tyene finally heard her mother's words and forcibly calmed herself down. Both women, still chained to their respective walls, looked at the back of their savior as he faced the door with implacable calm.

"Free us stranger! We can fight!"

Ellaria knew she sounded desperate as she said it, but even without weapons, the Dornish woman did not wish to be chained up for the battle. The armored man glanced back at her but then the door opened and goldcloaks poured into the room. From there, everything was blood and death and violence. All the two Sands could do was sit and watch as their savior fought a host of men that no sole soldier could ever hope to defeat, even with a small corridor in which to fight.

-x-X-x-

She supposed she really shouldn't be aroused, given the circumstances. Ellaria Sand had had no intention of ever laying with another man again after her lover's death. Women were fair game, but in deference to her memory of Oberyn, she had… given up the cock so to speak. In this case however, Ellaria felt like Oberyn might forgive her from whatever afterlife he was hopefully enjoying himself in.

Ellaria lounged back on a surprisingly comfortable part of an enormous dragon's spine as it flew them away from King's Landing. The city would be but a distant speck in the distance, but the armored stranger has flown them high above even the clouds themselves, leaving the view below them pure white and the landing if they were to fall off deceptively soft and fluffy.

Her daughter lay bundled up beside her. Despite her miraculous recovery, almost as soon as they'd gotten above the cloud layer, Tyene had passed out. The armored figure had calmed Ellaria's fears and explained that such a thing was normal and the young woman merely needed her rest. After everything they'd been through, Ellaria was not averse to letting her eldest daughter sleep.

The loss of Obara and Nymeria would no doubt sting Tyene's heart for longer than it would Ellaria's. While she mourned the two girls because they were Oberyn's children, in the end Tyene was the only one she cared about. Which brought her back to the armored figure currently flying the dragon… somewhere? Looking a bit too hungrily at the man's back, Ellaria licked her dry lips and swallowed hard, trying to keep the rasp out of her voice when she spoke. She succeeded, mostly.

"Where are we going? Who are you?"

The armored figure looked back over his shoulder at her and then he did the strangest thing. He turned about and settled back as if they were all lounging aboard a pleasure barge. Did he not need to fly the great best they were all sat upon?" Apparently not, if his casualness was any indication.

"I am the Dovahkiin which means Dragonborn in your tongue. And we're heading for the next Quest objective. Or I should say the next two. Yara Greyjoy and Euron Greyjoy. They're right next to each other."

Ellaria's brow furrowed as she processed this information. Ultimately she decided that taking things one step at a time with this man might be for the best. He seemed like the type to leave one's mind twisted into knots if one did not carefully unravel the meaning behind what he said.

"Dragonborn… so then you are the Targaryen Queen's creature as I suspected. This is not one of her dragons though. I have seen them, this one is much bigger. What magics did she use to bring you into being, Dovahkiin?"

The armored draconic figure cocked his covered head to the side.

"Ah, I can see the confusion. No, I am not Queen Daenerys' creature. I'm just helping out. She gave me a Quest you see, to help her allies. It's a Side Quest, sure. But it's tied into the Main Quest I'm currently on. I help you all, she listens a bit better, and then she agrees to help Jon Snow, the King in the North, against the threat posed in the Main Quest. It's all growing a tad convoluted, but in the end it's not nearly as bad as some of the stuff I had to do to make everything work properly back in Skyrim."

Ellaria Sand stared. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She shut it and stared some more. Still, as she focused on the words he used, she was actually getting SOME of this. But she needed clarification.

"You use the word Quest a lot Dovahkiin. This is something from fairy tales, used to describe adventures that hedge knights might go on that are fraught with peril. Quests have nothing to do with war though, and that is what the Seven Kingdoms is currently in the middle of. A war. Admittedly, a war coming to its close thanks to a loss of players on all sides, but there is war nonetheless."

The Dragonborn just shrugged his spiked shoulders at that.

"There's always a war somewhere Ellaria Sand. I'm not a soldier though and I'm not some kind of general either. The Dovahkiin wanders and he helps out and he saves the world. That's about it. I saved my world and then came back here because this is apparently where I was born. It's kind of shitty, but not too bad. A few beautiful women at least."

… Ellaria really wished that the figure was not wearing that helm of his, because she was sure he was giving her bedroom eyes right now and she had been ready and raring to go since he killed what seemed like half of King's Landing's Goldcloaks and then literally blasted off of the roof of the Red Keep with them on the back of this massive dragon.

Leaning forward, Ellaria let her cleavage show as best she could, biting her lower lip and giving her own bedroom eyes.

"I should apologize for the interrogation Dovahkiin. Perhaps if you removed your armor, I could show you my appreciation, my way. You saved my daughter's life and mine as well. That counts for quite a lot with me."

"Appreciate the offer. And I will definitely take you up on that, just as soon as we're no longer on the back of a dragon. This is Odahviing. He doesn't like it when people fuck on his back."

Before Ellaria could react, there was a loud, incomprehensible roar from the dragon, one that reverberated through her very soul and woke Tyene up momentarily. The Dragonborn turned and spoke back in that same loud voice, visible airways booming from his helm off into the distance as he did so. When he looked back to the Dornish woman, Ellaria's eyes were wide.

"… It is… did you just speak with it?"

There's that head cock again as the Dragonborn looks at her like SHE'S the crazy one.

"Like I said, HE is Odahviing and yes, I spoke to it. He can also understand every word your saying just so you know."

"Oh."

That was all she had to say. Leaning back from where she was all but displaying her breasts to the Dragonborn, Ellaria slipped down beside her daughter and wrapped Tyene in her arms as the young woman fell back to sleep. She was still horny as hell for the armored man before her… but right now, Ellaria rather felt like she needed a break from his insanity.

-x-X-x-

To say Yara Greyjoy had had it rough since her capture at the hands of her Uncle would be an understatement. There were two bright points though, despite the horrific treatment and heaping upon heaping of indignities. Yara still had her life and that meant she could still taste freedom. If Theon could go through all he had and come out of it still alive, she could survive this. Though if she ever saw her traitorous coward of a brother again, she wasn't sure if she'd skin him herself or forgive him once more. The cockless twat had had quite a lot of chances at this point.

The other bright point was one that Yara was sure would change soon enough. She had not been raped. Yet. Oh sure, Euron had stripped her naked fairly early on and she was not allowed to wear anything besides the large metal collar currently around her neck, but nobody had pinned her down and forced themselves upon her. It was still only a matter of time though, Yara was sure of that.

That didn't mean Euron wasn't against using her status as a woman against her though. He regularly led her around on a chain attached to the metal collar like a leash, forcing her to stumble around the deck of his flagship so that his crew could ogle and paw at her. He'd even taken to setting up a schedule for this so that the other nearby ships in his fleet could ogle her from afar at the times he gave them.

Yara was sure that it raised morale among Euron's sailors something fierce. And it also served to destroy her reputation as an Ironborn even further. She was nothing but a naked whore now in the eyes of the men who should have been her countrymen. The loyalty of the Ironborn had always been paper thin though.

It was one of these times right now in fact. Yara was led out onto the desk with her hands tied in front of her, tits and hips and the space betwixt her thighs on full display. Euron had hold of her leash and he directed her around by tugging on it cruelly, laughing all the while as she stumbled and tripped and nearly fell a half a dozen times.

To Yara's credit, she did not actually hit the deck until the dragon roar shook what felt like the entire world. Euron's fleet and his flagship all swayed mightily back and forth as a thousand Ironborn turned their eyes skyward. Yara did the same and her pupils dilated as a wide smile broke across her face at the sight of a dragon winging down from the clouds above.

The Dragon Queen had come for her? Or no, Yara probably wasn't worthy of that, not as she was now. Perhaps then, Daenerys had somehow learned of Euron's plans to attack Casterly Rock and the remainder of her fleet there. They were only an hour away at this point, almost within striking distance in fact.

Either way, it was potentially Yara's salvation, if she was willing to take it. Even as the massive dragon flew the length of the fleet, not breathing fire but still roaring hard enough to literally overturn entire ships, Yara stood up. In all her naked glory, covered in blood, sweat, and days-old grime, the Ironborn woman pulled the sword of a nearby sailor from its sheathe and slit his throat.

Then, an unarticulated roar of rage rising from her throat, Yara turned on her Uncle, still staring up at the sky as he was, and charged the man. Her blade struck true in the same moment that the dragon came in for a landing, crushing half of Euron's flagship in the process. Yara watched with satisfaction as her blade dug into her uncle's neck, blood spurting out of both the wound and his mouth as he turned to regard her in stupefaction.

The man was not unbeatable, nor invincible. It felt good to deal the killing blow to him, even through surprise rather than personal strength. Letting out a slow breath, Yara grabbed the chain from his hands as he fell to the deck dead, wrapping her 'leash' over her shoulder and around her hips a few times as she glanced about. No one was preparing to attack her though. They'd all either jumped ship or were cowering before the dragon that now took up over half of the things length.

In fact, as Yara watched Ellaria Sand dismount from the massive dragon's back, the ship began to list. Smiling widely, the Dornish woman approached with sure footing all the same.

"Yara, darling. So good to see you in… well, as decent of health as one could expect given the circumstances. We were here to rescue you, but I suppose you don't need it. Ready to go?"

Yara's racing heart was coming to a slow and her adrenaline was dying down. As such, when Ellaria asked her that simple question, probably expecting a simple answer, Yara thought about it and came to an equally simple conclusion. A smile on her face, she shook her head and reached down to her uncle's belt, where his horn sat.

"No. Not yet."

Grabbing the horn up and her dead uncle by his collar as well, Yara lugged the heavy weight up the steps to where the ship's top deck lay. She draped her uncle's body pointedly over the railing and lifted the horn to her lips. Putting as much of her breath into it as she could, Yara watched as she got the attention of many of the terrified Ironborn, both swimming in the ocean between abandoned ships, and cowering on said ships on account of the dragon.

Once she had their attention, she used it, standing there proud and naked, wrapped in the chain that her Uncle had tried to use to enslave her, to take away her dignity.

"IRONBORN! I AM YARA GREYJOY! MY UNCLE IS DEAD BESIDE ME! I KILLED HIM! EURON GREYJOY IS DEAD! IF NOTHING ELSE, YOU WILL TELL ALL THAT IS HE DEAD AT THE VERY LEAST!"

She paused as people murmured to one another and those closest stared up at her uncle's lifeless eyes in fright. Then she continued on, her smile only growing wider.

"I AM YARA GREYJOY AND I WILL BE THE FIRST LADY REAPER OF PYKE. THE DRAGON QUEEN REWARDS THOSE WHO SERVE FAITHFULLY AND I HAVE SERVED! EITHER SAIL FOR CASTERLY ROCK AND SUBMIT TO THE DORNISH FLEET AND THE UNSULLIED… OR SCURRY BACK TO THE IRON ISLANDS AND AWAIT MY RETURN. I PROMISE TO BRING THE DRAGONS WITH ME!"

Expelling a breath, Yara turned away without seeing the reaction of Euron's men. She walked back to a stunned Ellaria and smiled as she let the horn slip from her fingers. Leaning in, she kissed the Dornish woman soundly on the lips, her hand caressing Ellaria's dusky cheek for a brief moment. When she pulled away, Yara bit her own lip and shrugged.

"Been wanting to do that since the ambush. We were so rudely interrupted."

Ellaria's face split into a grin of her own and the two women walked back to the waiting dragon together. By this point, Euron's flagship was nearly half sunk. It certainly wouldn't ever sail again and Yara enjoyed the thought of it and he sinking to the bottom of the sea. He could meet the Drowned God for all Yara cared. Her place remained among the living, while his did not.

With some help from Ellaria, Yara crawled up onto the massive dragon before her. When she got to the top, she finally saw who was flying the damn thing and startled in surprise. An intimidating armored figure with a draconic helm stared back at her. Only now did Yara realize that the dragon she was sat upon was far bigger than what she remembered of any of Daenerys' 'children'.

Her lips pressed tightly together, Yara stared wide eyed back at the armored figure, even as Ellaria clamored up after her. She was a little terrified of her savior, but she also would not back down. This stare down continued for a long moment more before the armored man suddenly looked away and sighed.

"You killed him."

Yara blinked dumbly at that.

"Euron?"

"Yes! Euron Greyjoy! You killed him!"

Pressing her lips together, Yara furrowed her brow in confusion.

"I don't… I don't understand, how did you know my Uncle? I can assure you, he needed killing."

"You don't understand! He was the Quest Objective! I was supposed to kill him! This doesn't happen to me! I've never had someone else kill a quest objective before! I don't even know if the quest is going to complete properly now! Damnations, if this bugs out the Main Quest I swear to the Divines…"

The armored figure continued to mutter to himself as the massive dragon, seemingly with no direction from his rider, rose into the air. The first beat of the creature's wings sent the remains of Euron's flagship every which way as the rest of the boat broke apart and began to sink. Yara looked down at it with a satisfied smile, even as Ellaria wrapped her arms around the naked Ironborn girl and rested her chin on Yara's shoulder.

"Don't worry about the Dragonborn darling. He's a bit… eccentric. You were amazing down there. Absolutely gorgeous."

Hmph. She was wasn't she? Smirking, Yara settled back into the Dornish woman's affectionate embrace as they flew in the direction of Casterly Rock. Most of the remaining Ironborn Fleet began to follow them.


End file.
